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ALL THE WRONG QUESTIONS
“Who Could That Be at This Hour?”
“When Did You See Her Last?”
“Shouldn’t You Be in School?”
“Why Is This Night Different from All Other Nights?”
ADDITIONAL REPORTS
File Under: Thirteen Suspicious Incidents
Why Is This Night Different from All Other Nights?
First published in Great Britain 2015
by Egmont UK Limited
The Yellow Building
1 Nicholas Road
London W11 4AN
Text copyright © 2015 Lemony Snicket
Art copyright © 2015 Seth
ALL THE WRONG QUESTIONS: Why Is This Night Different from All Other Nights? by Lemony Snicket reprinted by arrangement with Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency.
Illustrations published by arrangement with Little, Brown, and Company, New York, New York, USA. All rights reserved.
The moral rights of the author and artist have been asserted
First e-book edition 2015
978 1 4052 5624 7
Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1233 0
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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TO: B., P. Bellerophon
FROM: LS
FILE UNDER: Stain’d-by-the-Sea, accounts of; murder, investigations of; Hangfire; Bombinating Beast
4/4
cc: VFDhq
CONTENTS
There was a town, and there was a train, and there was a murder. I was on the train, and I thought if I solved the murder I could save the town. I was almost thirteen and I was wrong. I was wrong about all of it. I should have asked the question “Is it more beastly to be a murderer or to let one go free?” Instead, I asked the wrong question—four wrong questions, more or less. This is the account of the last.
I was in a small room, not sleeping and not liking it. The room was called the Far East Suite, and it sat uncomfortably in the Lost Arms, the only hotel in town. It had a chest of drawers and a little table with a metal plate that was responsible for heating up a number of very bad meals. A puzzling shape on the ceiling was someone’s idea of a light fixture, and a girl on the wall, holding an injured dog, was someone else’s idea of a painting. There was one window and one shutter covering it, so the room was far too dark except in the morning. In the morning it was far too light.
But most of the room was a pair of beds, and most of what I didn’t like slept in the larger one. Her name was S. Theodora Markson. I was her apprentice and she was my chaperone and the person who had brought me to the town of Stain’d-by-the-Sea in the first place. She had wild hair and a green automobile, and those are the nicest things I could think of to say about her. We’d had a fight over our last big case, which you can read about if you’re the sort of person who likes to know about other people’s fights. She was still mad at me and had informed me I was not allowed to be
